


Reunions: Peacemaker Edition

by silveryink



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Post-Episode AU: s02e13 Doomsday, Reunions, based on the novel 'Peacemaker'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 11:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silveryink/pseuds/silveryink
Summary: The Doctor and Martha take a trip to the Wild West, uncovering a deep plot along the way. Meanwhile, a young teacher named Jenny Forrest meets someone new in town, a woman named Marion. There might be more of a connection between these events than might have been expected...





	Reunions: Peacemaker Edition

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is inspired by the Doctor Who novel, Peacemaker, by James Swallow, with most of the dialogues taken directly or with little modification from the book. Jenny Forrest and the Sheriff are characters from the same.  
Hope you all enjoy!

Jenny hitched up her skirt lightly and carefully navigated across the muddy street to avoid getting even a speck on her. On her way, she passed a few young women, bar girls who stopped to wave at her before resuming their preparations for the street party that evening. She smiled back politely, adjusting the bundle of books so that they wouldn’t slip and fall onto the aforementioned muddy ground. The sheriff stopped her with a “Good morning, Miss Forrest.”

“Sheriff Blaine,” she greeted.

“And how’s the day been treatin’ you, might I inquire?”

“I’ve had a minor windfall,” she said, gesturing at the books. “After Mr. Toomey’s passing, his widow donated these to the schoolhouse library.”

“The sour old fella was good for something, then,” Blaine said. They exchanged some small talk about the school, the deceased man, and the festival. Just as Jenny was about to say her farewells, Blaine asked, “How’s our newest resident doin’? I understand she’s stayin’ with you?”

“She is,” Jenny affirmed. “She’s adjusting well enough, I daresay, given that she’s only been here a week. She helps me out at the school,” she added.

“I see,” Blaine said neutrally. “I hope to see you at the festival tonight, Miss Forrest.”

“Perhaps, if I get finished in time.”

He tipped his hat and walked off. “Hold you to that, ma’am.”

Jenny turned the corner down the side street, keeping a steady pace. She stopped, hearing an odd noise on the breeze, like the grating of a large pair of bellows, or the winter wind rasping through the trees. It was loudest when she passed the Assay Office, seemingly in the alley behind it. For a moment, she felt a wild curiosity and wished to go and investigate the source of the noise, but the feeling passed and caution won. She turned and walked away briskly. It was probably nothing, anyway.

* * *

Jenny cut herself off from her musings when she heard two unfamiliar voices ahead of her. A man and a woman, English, by the sound of their accents. The man was hatless, and had his hands buried in the pockets of his long brown coat. The woman at his side wore an oxblood jacket and had hair that was tied up such that it resembled the man’s own, that is, it stuck up everywhere. Jenny wasn’t sure exactly what about the woman’s ensemble struck her as odd, but the style of clothing reminded her of her new friend’s own when she had first arrived.

The two paused in their conversation and the man seemed to sense that she was there, as he turned and smiled wanly at her. “Hello there! This might sound like a silly question, but, uh, where are we?”

Jenny flushed, embarrassed that she had overheard their conversation. “This is Redwater,” she said. “You’re new to the town, then?”

“Oh, yes.” The man grinned. “Very new. Brand new, even.” He seemed pleased at his own joke. She took his proffered hand and shook it. “Hello!” he said again. “This is my friend Martha Jones, and I’m the Doctor.”

She smiled back, finding his open manner infectious. “Miss Jenny Forrest, at your service. A pleasure to meet you, Miss Jones, and Doctor, uh--”

“Just Doctor,” he replied. “Redwater, is it? Splendid! I love the place names in this part of the world.”

Her brow furrowed. “I didn’t know we had new arrivals. The stagecoach from Dekkerville isn’t due for another week or so.”

“We, uh, rode in,” Miss Jones said hesitantly. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Of course. We had someone else arrive just last week, actually,” Jenny added. “Doctor, while it is always stimulating to have someone of your learning visit our township, I must confide to you that if you’ve come having heard of our epidemic, your journey has been wasted.”

“Epidemic?” Miss Jones’ smile creased into a frown.

“Really? And why is that?”

“The sickness was cured,” Jenny said.

“What sickness would that be?” Martha asked suspiciously.

“Why, the smallpox, of course.”

* * *

Jenny walked into the parlour, balancing the cups of strong black tea in her hands as carefully as she had the books. The Doctor looked up when she walked in, and accepted his cup with a smile and a thank you.

“It’s the least I can do for visitors,” Jenny said, remembering the years of lessons her parents had drilled into her. “Tell me, do you have lodgings? I can recommend Mrs. Lapwing’s boarding house just over yonder.”

“Thanks,” Martha said.

The Doctor said nothing save a comment about Verne’s _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_. He had abandoned his tea in favour for helping her sorting out the books.

“_Doctor_,” Martha said pointedly, “Perhaps Miss Forrest can shed some more light on what we were just talking about?”

“Oh, call me Jenny, please,” she said. “Did you have a question?”

“The sickness you mentioned, you said it was cured.”

She nodded. “That’s quite correct, although the manner of it was beyond me.” She frowned. “My friend, who came here last week, she found this suspicious as well. She thought – and I agree with her – that this so-called _miracle worker_ has quite a few secrets he hasn’t yet unveiled.” She paced the length of the room. “Doctor, Miss Jones, every encounter I have had with these peddlers with their apparent patent cures, these powders or philtres for what ails you, they have all been nothing more than confidence tricksters...”

“But?” the Doctor prompted.

“He came into town a couple of weeks ago, in a gaudy wagon with an Indian youth as his travelling companion. He set up a stand across from the Bluebird saloon. At first it was merely magic tricks, using long and complicated words to dazzle the less educated members of the community.”

“You’re talking about a medicine show,” Martha realised.

The conversation continued for a while longer, with her handing over her bottle of the cure to the Doctor, who rushed off to conduct his experiments, which was well and good, since she wanted a second opinion on the credibility of this cure. She shared her friend’s suspicions on the origins of this medicine, and while she had bought a bottle for the school (it never hurt to be prepared for another outbreak), she did not want to harm her pupils, regardless of how many times the cure had been tried on her fellow townsfolk.

Jenny decided to show Miss Jones around the town, as her guide for the length of their stay. The young woman seemed genuinely interested in the history of their small town, and listened earnestly as Jenny slipped into her role as teacher. Her explanation on why the soil was its ruddy shade could not have been less interesting (it came from the preponderance of iron in the local hills), but Martha still listened, though an amused smirk had settled at the edge of her lips now.

She engaged Jenny with questions about the town, and as the sun crept below the horizon, she spotted a familiar figure walk up to them. “Marion, how have you been?” she greeted.

“It’s rather hot, actually,” Marion replied ruefully. She swept her blonde hair back under her hat.

“I suppose that’s what you’d get for walking in the afternoon heat,” Jenny chastised.

“And where have you been all day?” Marion retorted, raising a brow.

“Showing our new visitors around, actually.” Jenny gestured towards Martha. “This is Miss Martha Jones. Miss Jones, Miss Marion Smith.”

“I prefer Marion,” Marion said, proceeding to greet Martha. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Marion,” Martha said.

“Marion, you are accompanying me to the festival tonight, are you not?”

“I am, definitely,” Marion said. “I was just going to change, actually.”

“That reminds me,” Jenny muttered, sweeping a gaze across Martha’s strange garb. “Would you like to change into clothes that are a little more… conventional?”

“What’s wrong with this?” Martha brushed off her jacket. “It’s my favourite. Got it in a sale at Henrik’s.”

Marion jumped slightly at the name, eyes narrowing. Jenny frowned at her, concerned, before turning back to Martha. “In these parts, dress is sometimes more conservative than you might be familiar with.”

She coloured slightly when Martha eyed her own long black bustle, and Marion’s brighter shade of rose. “I wore something like that a little while ago. It wasn’t really my style, if you know what I mean. I’m okay with my jacket and jeans.”

Marion’s brows lifted and her gaze focused, scrutinising, at the younger woman. Jenny decided to ask her about this later, a passing thought reminding her that her new friend had been clothed incredibly similar to Martha. So was the accent, actually, though she’d forgotten about it when she’d almost instantly adopted the inflections of their own town.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to be rude,” Jenny said hastily.

Martha smiled. “I bet you’d look brilliant in a miniskirt and a crop-top,” she told her.

Marion’s brows seemed to be doing a fine job of melding with her hairline, but she shifted her gaze, speculative. “You would,” she murmured, so soft that Jenny almost missed it. Martha would definitely have not heard it.

“A crop top,” Jenny repeated. “Is that like a bustle?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Martha said, turning away with a quick grin.

Jenny glanced at Marion, who was aggressively shaking her head and mouthing ‘no.’ Jenny giggled at her friend’s antics, leading Martha away with assurances to take her and her companion to the festival.

* * *

The Doctor adjusted the controls on the TARDIS absently, listening to Martha explain the events of the afternoon, more specifically, what had happened with Nathan in the schoolhouse. “Nathan was terrified,” she said, “and that big lunkhead Joe didn’t help matters by dragging him off.”

“Mmm,” was all the Doctor found himself able to say, with the rate at which he considered and dismissed his various ideas about what exactly was going on. He didn’t like any of his theories just then.

“Have you been listening to me?” Martha asked suddenly.

“I pay attention to everything you say and do, Martha Jones,” he replied, without looking at her. “I don’t even need to look at you to know that you’re doing that face.”

“What face? I’m not doing any face.”

“Yes you are,” he said, still not looking, “The _moral indignation, how dare they do that, just wait ‘til I get my hands on them_ face.” He glanced up and vindication seized him momentarily. “Yeah, that one there.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Okay, I _am_ feeling indignant. But I’ve got a right to. First that loser Hawkes and then that smelly stable-guy…”

“What about me? I had a bloke waving a knife at me and an unfriendly sheriff in my face,” The Doctor countered, trying to diffuse the tension somewhat. “Mind you, this sort of thing does happen to me quite a bit. I should be used to it by now, I suppose.”

Martha hummed, and the two of them discussed the Pinkerton excuse his psychic paper gave him in the pub. The Doctor finished conducting his psychic resonance scan and only a single reading popped up. “Huh, I thought it would be bigger,” he muttered.

“You thought _what_ would be bigger?”

“The signature,” he explained. “Normally, there would be a lingering sort of trace with all those who were affected. These scans… all I’m getting is the sign of a single telepath here. Seems to be inactive too, sort of... latent.”

“I think we should check it out,” Martha suggested, before a double knock made them both turn towards the door. The Doctor tapped the button that showed them both who exactly was outside – Miss Forrest, along with a female companion who was half hidden behind her. He supposed this was Marion, the friend Martha had mentioned in passing. His hearts almost stopped, though, when Jenny shifted, clearing the view of her face.

It couldn’t be…

He bounded out the door without a moment’s hesitation, ignoring Martha’s confused cry. Miss Forrest jumped back with a small squeak when he wrenched the doors open. “Doctor, I…” she trailed off, stepping back on noticing his expression.

“Rose?” He asked hesitantly. She stepped forward, lifting her skirts over her ankles so that they weren’t dirtied by the mud, fully into the light of the TARDIS. He moved forward as well, unbidden but not unwelcome. “Is it…”

“My Doctor,” she said, the corner of her lips creasing into a smile. “I thought I could sense you.”

“How – _you’re_ the telepath,” he realised. “How?”

“Bad Wolf,” she said, shrugging. “I know you have questions, Doctor, and I will answer them all after this-” she gestured vaguely around them –“is sorted out.”

“Good call,” he murmured. “I’ve missed you, Rose.”

“And I’ve missed you.” She stepped into his outstretched arms and held him tightly. Too soon for it to be okay, she extricated herself gently from his embrace, turning back to Miss Forrest, who – right, they weren’t alone – appeared to be holding back several questions.

“Jenny?” Rose prompted. The schoolteacher shook her head.

“I believe I could wait awhile for answers. The four of us happen to be the only ones who have any remote chance of getting to the heart of this,” she added. The three others nodded automatically. “I sought you out because I was worried about Nathan. When Miss Jones--”

“Martha.”

“When Martha found him today… I have never before seen him so shaken. I fear a firm hand is exactly the opposite of what he needs at this moment.”

“Nathan has the dreams,” the Doctor reaffirmed. “Was he the first one to get them? Was he healed first?”

“Right after the Lesters, yes,” Jenny said. “He took the cure before the rest of the townsfolk.”

An idea started to take shape in his mind, nebulous and vague, but an idea nonetheless.

“Longest incubation period, maybe?” he suggested to Martha.

“How about making a house call, Doctor?” she said by way of reply. The Doctor smiled, lopsided, before stepping back to let her take the lead with Jenny. He walked by Rose’s side, for the dual reasons of getting answers of her return and for the long-missed _joy_ of being able to be with her.

They let the others remain a few paces ahead of them, and Rose appeared to be more than happy to take his outstretched handing hers. They fit together perfectly, and he supposed he must have made some sort of contended sound because she smirked up at him with mirth in her eyes.

“This reminds me of Cardiff,” she remarked, and he wondered how he’d forgotten the warmth that filled him whenever she referenced any of their trips before his regeneration. Of course, this entire situation was nothing like their visit to Cardiff: for one, they hadn’t met any famous authors around town, or get locked up in a dungeon – actually, it was best not to think of that. The Doctor didn’t want to hold up wrapping up this matter and spending the next few days in the TARDIS alone with Rose.

The empty ring box which had once held the ring that he’d given to Donna burned in his pocket, a phantom memory. He’d never asked for it back, not caring whether the young woman had kept it as a keepsake or discarded it, but he’d had another one as a spare, in his – their – room in the TARDIS, knowing full well that it would likely get destroyed during one of their escapades. He decided to take it out once their adventure was over, when the moment arrived. It made him think of missed opportunities. He fully intended to seize the ones that came this time through. He was, before he could reply, distracted by a terrible thought. “Rose, if you’re here, then—”

Rose bit her lip. “Like I said, I’ve got a lot to talk to you about.”

“I know, I know, but… Jackie and Mickey?”

“They’re _fine_,” she said firmly. “They didn’t want to stop me, it’s been _years_ since—”

“Yeah,” he said, and frowned. “Hang on, years? It’s only been a few months here.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, somehow,” Rose muttered. “It had only been months when Mickey stayed back _last _time too.”

The Doctor nodded slowly. “There’s no way back, though,” he said, hushed.

“We’ll discuss that later,” she said pointedly, before turning to smile up at him. That look would be the end of him, he knew. It was irresistible, and he found himself falling in love all over again, delighted with the chance he’d gotten to spend what time he had with Rose _with Rose_, at her side, traversing the universe and making friends together (at her lead, always at her lead, because she was the absolute best at forming friendships).

“Doctor?”

“Yeah?”

“I – this might sound a bit weird to ask now, because we’re in the middle of… whatever this is, but…”

He waited, ever patient, for her to gather her thoughts. He would always wait for her.

“Before Canary Wharf, you told me about this bond that Time Lords made. You said that it was popular among married couples, so that they could keep track of regenerations. I suppose what I’m saying, no – what I’m _asking_, is if you will marry me.”

The Doctor stopped in his tracks, struck speechless by her request. It _had_ been his intention to propose to her, but when the question was turned on him so suddenly, he found himself quite unable to respond, and thoroughly overwhelmed by the intensity of emotions flowing through him.

“It’s not the best proposal,” she said nervously, “but I don’t exactly have your flair for words.”

“I… I think you have the best ones, though. Words, I mean,” he added, aware of the way his voice had changed.

“And that means…”

“Rose Tyler, I would be the happiest person on – well, not on Earth –”

“In the universe?” she added cheekily.

“In the universe,” he agreed, “Marrying you would make me the happiest person in all of time and space.”

Rose smiled, and it was so soft, so full of love, that the Doctor simply had to step forward and pull her into a chaste kiss. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around him to stay in a loose embrace even when they broke away, because believe it or not, they were still in the nineteenth century and public displays of affection were not exactly encouraged.

It was just as well, then, that they were passing through another alley. Besides, what _had_ he been saying about seizing opportunities?

**Author's Note:**

> End notes: This story was weirdly hard to write, and the rest of the plot happens almost exactly the way it did in the book (what changes and what doesn’t is entirely up to speculation).  
Thank you all for staying till the end!


End file.
